


Forgotten Memories

by skywarpie



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Friday the 13th: The Game (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Im ready depression, Jason is just a boy who misses his mom, mentions of violence at the beginning, this turned out a lot more sad than I wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywarpie/pseuds/skywarpie
Summary: Being alone is a lot easier than realizing that you actually are alone. Sometimes Jason forgets he can still remember the past.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Forgotten Memories

Metal slices through bone like butter with a knife. The sound is sickening, to say the least. A loud _thunk_ echoes as the blade makes contact with the skull. Its a swift kill, the victim doesn't even have time to register who's attacked him. The body slumps at the end of the machete, the blade still buried. Jason grimaces behind his mask. _Why can't they just stay away? They've all heard the stories. Why do they have to tempt fate when they know how it will end_? Jason has never been a very good judge of character, but its easy to pinpoint that all of the people who still come to Crystal Lake are stupid. Why else would someone so young and full of life risk being killed by a..what was it that one man had shouted at him...a mad man! That was it. He supposed that's what he looked and acted like to them. But he saw himself different. Maybe that's why everyone still came here. They saw things differently and thought they could cheat death. A poor mistake.

Jason sighs loudly, his breath hissing through the holes in his hockey mask. Whatever, he doesn’t have time to worry about what runs through a sex addicted teens’ mind. A heavily booted foot plants itself on the shoulder of the man on the other end of the machete. It only takes one good shove for the blade to dislodge itself, a sickening wet sound filling the night air. The weapon glistens with fresh blood as the moonlight reflects on it. Jason takes a moment to admire his handy work. The man’s skull is sliced cleanly through the left side. An eye oozes from its’ socket, slowly mixing with the blood and brain matter that migrates toward the ground. The body sits suspended in position for a moment more before it finally slumps and falls backward, hitting the ground. A second more he looks at the bloody scene in front of him.

_Well, that's that_. Luckily it had only been two people this time instead of a whole herd of them. The girl he had already killed earlier in the day. He'd ran the machete clean through her torso, spilling intestines and blood onto the forest floor. Honestly, how stupid were these people? They came to him _home_ and expected no retaliation. Having them separated from one another only made his job easier.

He exhales deeply before re-sheathing the blade to the belt around his waist. Bending, he grabs the boy's body by the ankle, dragging it for almost thirty feet before he comes to the girl's corpse. He slings her lifeless body over a shoulder and with far more ease than any human should possess, he lugs the bodies back through the camp, only stopping once he reaches the abandoned site. Jason stops and pauses for a moment. He should really dispose of them as he would all the others but something settles in his veins that says _don’t bother with it_. He flings the body from his shoulder on top of the other that lies on the ground. There had been no signs of other people besides these two, so the risk of anyone stumbling upon the discarded bodies or out searching for them was slim.

Twigs snapped under his steps. For someone like Jason, who was silent in everything he did (breathing included), it was a rare mistake. Even within the confines of his own territory he would still be sure to move in stealth, but just like with the bodies, he suddenly could care less.

Being undead meant many things. One, you obviously couldn't die. Two, rarely did you need to eat or sleep, but for some reason the latter seemed to be beckoning him. It wasn't the same kind of exhaustion as in " _I need to sleep to regain energy, then I'll be oka_ y". No this was something different entirely. He suddenly felt very lethargic. If he were being honest with himself, it couldn't even really be called lethargy. Jason would describe it more as lonely than anything. He's slain multitudes of people and never had a second thought, but for some reason this one felt different. Jason shakes his head to try to clear the nagging thoughts. He makes his way onward and up onto the porch, if it could even be called that, seeing as it was decayed beyond belief. His hand reaches for the door handle but he hesitates. _Why are you hesitating_? This is something he’s done more times than he can count but for the first time he catches himself glancing back at the bodies. 

A hiss seeps out from between his teeth. It’s stupid to suddenly be cautious... but it isn’t really even caution, is it. No, it’s more along the lines of a chilling thought that has suddenly struck him and he berates himself for even acknowledging it. He’s lonely. Big deal. He’s been lonely before. That’s practically how all his childhood was. Loneliness isn’t a new feeling for him but sadness is. It’s an emotion he hasn’t felt in so long, that Jason was beginning to wonder if he even _could_ still feel it. He isn’t sad about killing the trespassers, not at all. What he’s sad about is that seeing just two people alone out here makes it seem more intimate. Typically it’s a group of them, but this was just two. Something about it just seemed more intimate, more caring.

_Stop it_. Jason stalks through the doorway, slamming the door behind him. It’s such a stupid thing to think of on loop. Intimacy isn’t something that he’s ever experienced, at least not in the physical sense. 

He trudges through the dilapidated house with heavy footfalls. The old boards creak and cave ever so slightly beneath his weight. A faint light stretches from one of the rooms at the far end of the hall. Jason pauses as he flexes his fists at his waist. This isn’t something he wants to deal with right now. All he wants is to...fuck _what_ does he want to do right now? 

_Jason_.

The voice beckons him softly. He should have known she’s able to tell when he enters the house. For a split second Jason considers ignoring her but guilt immediately settles in him and he relents. After all, he’s never been one to disrespect his mother. Slowly he make his way to the room, the candlelight flickering ever so slightly. There his mother sits surrounded by candle, well, at least what’s left of her. Beneath her head is her favorite sweater, the one Jason almost always remembers her in. 

For a long moment he just stands there. After all these years and his age one would think that his worry would have dissipated. But no. He still worries far too much about disappointing her. She’s always taken car of him in any and every situation, the last thing he wants is to completely fuck that up. As if the thought itself were a sin, Jason lowers his eyes to the ground and takes a deep breath.

_Oh there you are, my sweet boy!_

Still he doesn’t make eye contact, only glancing up once. When he does, he sees her standing there, her arms out stretched and beckoning. She isn’t really there, he knows this. It isn’t even her voice he’s hearing. It sounds like her and the apparition looks like her, but Jason knows neither are her. She’s been gone for what feels like a century and if he listens or looks closely, he can see the tiny details giving her away. Every time she sounds and looks less like his mother. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows it’s because slowly her memory _is_ fading from him. Occasionally it’s occurred to him that maybe this is his minds way of dealing with the trauma of losing her. Jason remembers one time she had told him that sometimes people were left with invisible scars and sometimes they had to make it less painful anyway possible. Was that what he was doing, making it less painful? It sure didn’t feel like it.

The apparition crosses the room in one smooth motion. _My special boy_. A phantom hand cups the cheek of his mask and Jason can’t help but lean into that touch. _You’ve done so well!_ Jason can’t help the smile that forms behind his mask at the praise. _Now you can rest. We’ll check the traps again in the morning_. The invisible hand retracts and almost instantly he feels the emptiness. He wants to say -- no beg his mother to not leave him again. Jason doesn’t know if he can stand being alone any longer and the thought of her leaving leaves a bad taste in his mouth. The brief thought crosses his mind to beg her to stay but he knows better.

**:Yes ma’am.:** Jason signs his response and stays were he is for a second longer before collecting himself and turning to leave the room. Slowly he makes his way back to the room that was once his when he was smaller. It isn’t really necessary to have a room, seeing as he doesn’t have much of a need to sleep. As for his clothes, well, that was just about as pointless. The boards in this room are more warped than the rest throughout the house. Maybe it’s because oddly enough he spends a good amount of his time in here. They groan and creak as he moves into the room. The bed that sits inside is far too small for an adult, let alone a man of his size. But he doesn’t care. This is his bed and room and it always will be.

The small bed buckles ever so slightly under his weight, but just as it always has it holds his weight. One of his hands runs across the old quilt that still covers the mattress. It’s a lovely quilt. He can remember as a child how it had bright colorful patches that adorned it. Now it’s tattered and the colors no longer shine. Another wave of sadness washes over him. It seems as if nothing in his life has been able to escape time.


End file.
